


Impropriety

by MadDub



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breaking Celibacy Vows, Clothed Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension, Sorry Not Sorry, at least at first, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDub/pseuds/MadDub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Kankri is celibate doesn't mean he's asexual. Damara learns this firsthand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impropriety

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm still not updating my other stories. I know, I know, and I'm _sorry_.
> 
> Anyway, this is extremely ironic because I actually ship these two in a _nonsexual_ relationship. Like, no sex at all. However, I read this prompt on Dreamwidth about this pair, tried to write it like they wanted, realized I got it wrong (I don't really consider clothed sex super "kinky" but I don't know), so here I am posting it here instead.
> 
> That said, please keep in mind that I did _not_ write Damara's dialogue with an Eastern accent in mind. I am not nearly confident/competent enough for that, so I basically just wrote everything she says in the hopes that it's hard to read but easy to understand if read aloud to yourself. If that makes any sense at all.
> 
> So yeah. Please don't get offended or angry when you notice her lack of an Asian accent. I wrote it purposely not-there. Or, you know, my utter fail at Damara's characterization. Because that's a thing.

This was getting ridiculous.

The others were constantly telling you that you should be used to Damara’s conduct by now, but no. You would not, could not allow yourself to become _used_ to this sort of provocative behavior. Not only was it entirely unseemly, unladylike, and downright _rude,_ but it was also incredibly offensive to those deemed “asexual” or “celibate”.

Right now for instance, while you sat innocently reading a novel by the great troll David Malcohougeny, a great historical account of all that went on in Beforus centuries before your time there, Damara came sashaying in, skirt temptingly high and shirt haphazardly low. The rustle of cloth had attracted your attention, and when you made the fatal mistake of looking up from your book, low and behold, there was Miss Megido standing above you, loose locks of wavy black hair slipping from her carefully-made knot, her legs spread tantalizingly wide, so close you could feel her heat. A cigarette was dangling from her painted lips, thin lines of smoke curling out of her mouth, her almond-shaped ocular orbs lidded suggestively.

Here she was, the image of sex and temptation, taunting a poor, good soul who had promised himself to the fight against burning loins and rejection from pretty matesprits, and all for the sake of purity.

She leaned close, the scent of chamomile tea and smoke filling your breathing sacks, and while some would be disgusted, cringing, the warm scent of corruption and life in your olfactory holes only served to make you hot and uncomfortable. Her next inhale sent a cloud of gray your way, and you glared at her with your nose pressed into the dent of your book, attempting to shield yourself from the ghastly pollution hovering around your eyes. _“Ehf eh izn deh arogen preechen ashoe?”_

Like you could understand her even if you wanted to. Damara and everyone else knew the only one who could decipher her own noisy sin was the highly attractive and adulterous Rufioh.

Instead of answer, you leaned back in your chair and continued to glare, pulling the collar of your sweater up over your nose and turning your gaze back to your novel. Delinquents like Damara wanted only one of two things, and those were: 1) attention and 2) to have fun at the expense of ruining someone else’s day. You would give her neither, and you were positive she would soon enough leave you be should you communicate how little you were willing to give her (unless, of course, she could finally descend from the towering pedestal she had set herself upon and apologize for her utterly inappropriate actions of the past sweeps).

Unfortunately as it was, you underestimated the girl’s sheer tenacity. You had but a second of respite before a warm, soft body fell into your lap, Damara’ skirt rising up around her pelvis so smooth, naked thighs were pressed into your pant legs, a thin barrier of fabric separating the silky lump of heat of her crotch from your leg. Surprised, you choked, the book falling out of your hands entirely to clatter to the floor, and Damara took advantage of your flustered state to pin you back with hands to your chest, the ruffled sleeves of her shirt slipping to expose slender shoulders and a sharp collarbone. _“Ood ou like tou see sumdin moor fun den ah dusty ole book?”_

You swallowed, but your brain had disconnected from itself as soon as her body was pressed against yours, your bloodpusher pounding out a fast mantra in the cage of your chest region, arousal coiling hot and unbridled and completely unprepared for in your lower body. Her question flew right over your pulsing head, desire rearing its ugly head inside of you so powerfully you shook under its sudden oppression.

Just like that, your mind was flooded with images—images of Damara, of a gray, shapely female against you, naked as she sat on top of your clothed form, nook weeping onto the dark cloth of your trousers and bulge thrashing desperately in the air, your fingertips sliding across deliciously bare flesh, teeth biting and tongue lapping at every exposed centimeter, every bump and curve and sunspot you could explore and conquer. Black, glossy hair sliding across your knuckles and palms, a girlish moan, venom sacks jiggling as her body quaked with raw pleasure.

Before you knew it, your bulge was violently unsheathing, pressing up fervently, visibly wetting and rising the button of your pants. Damara’s white eyes flickered, and you were fairly positive she was eyeing the movement in your breeches, embarrassment flaming across your face.

Miss Megido glanced up at you again beneath the thin veil of her dark lashes, a smirk crawling across her pretty, malicious little face. _“Ou like dis?”_

You gave her a flat look. _I cannot possibly fathom what you just said to me, and I am slightly annoyed that you haven’t picked up my complete incomprehension of your orally-spoken words through the few almost-conversations we have attempted beforehand._

She didn’t so much as blink at your expression, instead she lifted herself up from your lap— _cold, lonely, disappointing and aggravating. You are so terribly aroused and you hate it_ —and proceeded to set herself back down directly over your released bulge, grinding her damp panties down teasingly on to your aching groin.

Your head fell back without your consent, orbs rolling back and lips gaping open to allow a loud, humiliating moan to flee the viciously filthy situation. This needed to stop, you had to put a halt to this girl’s actions, you had spent eons declining the luxuries of pailing or mutual dirty touches, and you shouldn’t give it up now to a girl you could hardly understand, let alone know—

_Oh._

“Ah!” You gasped as nimble fingers snaked beneath the sleeves of your sweater, barely grazing across the skin hidden away beneath it.

She—she was touching—that was—

_“Ouo like?”_

“Yes! Yes, very much!” Your word hole was betraying you, spewing the thoughts of your body all the while ignoring the steadfast alarms in your brain.

_“Good.”_

Those same digits curled around your sleeves and tugged lightly, asking for the garment to be shed, but no. No, your body was taking over control as of now, and it wanted to do this a different way, _your_ way.

A snarl ripped itself from your throat, and you shoved her hands away, taking them in your own to keep them from wandering as you pressed your lips to hers and kissed her. Damara jumped, obviously startled, and made a low noise against your mouth, but you didn’t let up. It was awkward and clumsy and you might have been a bit too aggressive in your movements, but when you pulled away you couldn’t help but be satisfied at her rust-colored flush and lipstick-smeared mouth.

You pulled at her shirt, intending to peel it off of her and fling it away, but the small rational part of your mind was still alive and whispering, _No! Consent is a must!_

She growled playfully at you and flung it from her torso, sending it sailing through the air behind her without a second glance, seemingly uncaring of where it landed. This gave full exposure of a gorgeous, curvy torso, breasts caught and cradled within the lacey red confines of a sexy, richly colored bra you refused to allow stay.

But first you wanted that damn skirt to go.

Again, you gave a single questioning tug before Damara’s fingers dipped toward the zipper--and that was all the permission you needed. In nanoseconds, the slip of cotton hit the opposite wall, and you had a half-naked woman in your arms, all hot skin and full lips and flexing muscle as she arched and wrapped bare limbs around you. Uncovered legs cinched around your waist, pulling her ever closer to your still-hidden one, her arms circling your neck as you ducked, curiously brushing your tongue across her flesh for a sample of taste.

She tasted mouthwatering, all sweat and smoke and realness, her body a solid weight on top of yours. Soon you were trailing wet streaks across her neck and jaw, and Damara only tilted her head back to give you more access, moaning filthily as you made your way down, down, down.

Her bra went next, easy enough to unclasp despite the way your hands shook in anticipation. You had never kissed another before, not anymore than on the cheek, and this new development was as overwhelming as it was exciting. Your bulge lapped at the other side of your undergarments hungrily, soaking straight through cotton to the tough material beyond. Unmarred gray flesh filled your vision, blushing maroon the longer you touched and kissed and licked at it, Damara’s underwear leaving behind streaks as she groaned and grinded down against you.

Being able to reduce someone to this state was a powerful, giddy feeling, but you had only just started. Your fingers tentatively slipped into the silky cloth left, Damara’s skin growing hotter and hotter the closer you became to her intimate area, and she fisted fingers into your hair and hissed in your ear when fingertips brushed a dripping bulge. Her hips lifted and bucked against you when you rubbed its sensitive, slick surface, but you weren’t quite prepared to take things to the next level yet, so you began to retreat your fingers in favor of pulling off her last bit of cover.

Damara whined audibly and raised her hips to aid you, going back to straddling your yet-to-be-stripped lap, body writhing on top of yours, back arching and sacks bouncing so sweetly, so perfectly, nook seeping and bulge pressing down against yours through the fabric, causing you to shudder and growl as you thrusted up against her.

She went for your pants this time, fingers directly moving towards the button of your pants, but you snatched her hand before she could, giving another sharp thrust upwards so she cried out and moved against you.

_“Off!”_ she shouted desperately, teeth clenching. _“Off!”_

“No,” you panted back, eyes fluttering shut at another delicious push against her bulge. “My clothes stay on.”

She whined, but you didn’t know if it was in protest to your words or if she was building up to her climax. You knew you were, especially when you opened your eyes to see her quivering, exposed flesh sitting astride yours, defenseless on top of your clothed limbs and body, undulating and jiggling with every convulsion and thrust between the two of you.

You blew up with a scream and a blinding flash of white behind your eyes, violently shaking against her, and you hadn’t yet finished when you heard her yell hoarsely and thrash wildly, limbs smacking against yours.

When you calmed down again, you found Damara sitting astride you with her head leaning against your shoulder, her breathing harsh and body trembling violently. You took a few minutes to breathe deeply, inhaling sweet amounts of whatever was in the air in the afterlife of dream bubbles, pants sticky and wet from the combined efforts of you and Miss Megido herself.

_“Again letur?”_ Damara asked into your sweater, shuddering.

You inhaled, exhaled. Repeated. “If you are up for another time, Miss Megido, then yes. Most definitely again.”

 


End file.
